


Meeting You: Re-Up

by UnrealRomance



Series: Meeting You Compilation [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Beware the Batman (Cartoon), The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, My own version of the universe, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6037378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrealRomance/pseuds/UnrealRomance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting You is being rewritten and this is the result.</p><p>I'm mixing it up a bit in the plot, with the introductions and characters--basically just improving everything.</p><p>If you like a story about a woman in the DC universe who ends up entangled with all of Gotham's Rogues-- but doesn't become one of them-- this is the story for you.</p><p>Robyn isn't a vigilante, or a Rogue-to-be-- she's just a woman with a job to do and a lot of Rogues-Gallery-charisma, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Great, now I've got garbage all over me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, I hope you guys like this better. I do.

The asphalt under my face is cold and scratchy.

The man straddling my back is holding a knife to my throat though, so I can't exactly move.

' _This is just wonderful.'_ I can't say I'm unafraid, but I've been in so many similar situations in my life I've come to accept that there are only a few ways to get out of them. Stay calm, assess, and when the moment is right- take your chance and kick major ass. _'Get off me or move far enough forward or backward that I can grab you, jackass.'_

He defies my inner monologue and instead presses the knife into my windpipe without moving his body an inch, his other hand still tangled in my moisture-lank brown hair.

"Stay still, I don't want to cut you." A voice so utterly devoid of emotion shouldn't speak remorseful words like that.

"Then don't cut me. Let me go." I try appealing with logic.

"Shut up." The knife presses into my jaw and a flash of white-hot pain tells me that it hit a nerve.

My entire body goes rigid for one moment and I let out a muffled groan of pain. "What do you want?"

"I said: Shut. Up." He moves the knife down and I scream through my teeth as it brushes my jawbone. The knife has sunk in too deep. If I don't get medical attention soon, I might bleed out. If he hit the artery, I'm dead. If not, I've still got a chance. "I'll _take_ what _I_ want."

' _Great. A rapist. I couldn't get attacked by a garden-variety mugger or a damn serial killer.'_ Rapists are either dealing with sexual issues from their own pasts or they have a power complex. Those with power complexes are doing it because they're angry with a particular woman or women or because they feel like their manhood has been questioned. _'I don't know this guy...a serial?'_

He scoots further down my body to sit on my thighs and uses the knife to cut the back of my shirt from bottom to top.

I stay perfectly still until he leans forward, snapping my bra with the knife and clenching his knees around my hips.

A grin spreads across my face as my legs bend upward and catch him around the neck. It isn't a firm grip, but it's enough to startle him and yank him off-balance. Far enough that I can let go, yank my legs out from under him and shove them underneath _me_.

I'm on my feet and running to the dead-end of the alley before he can stumble to his feet. I grab a trash can lid and run back toward him as he rushes at me.

Using the lid as my shield, I throw it at him and kick out with my foot. His arm is still a leg's length away from me as my foot plants the lid solidly in his abdomen and knocks him backward.

The knife goes flying and I jump over him to run away.

His hand flails up and knocks into my leg, tripping me up and sending me rolling across the ground. _'Son-of-a-bitch-mother-fuck-nugget!'_

I shriek when he throws himself on top of me again, and flip over when his weight disappears- prepared to use both my feet to kick him as hard as possible somewhere unpleasant.

But he's not there.

The alley is empty. I mean, it's filled with trash and there seems to be some rats skittering around somewhere, but my attacker is gone.

It isn't until I flop back and put my hand to my bleeding jaw that I look up far enough to see him.

The fire escape is occupied by my attacker and a man in a dark suit of body armor. My attacker is grasping at an arm around his throat, until the other man smacks him in the back of the head with a solid fist.

Both descend by way of a nearly silent grappling hook. The man in the suit drops my unconscious attacker, then walks over to offer me a hand.

"Batman." I mutter and stare up into that concealed face. Eyes covered with reflective white lenses and a cowl with two points on top.

"I'll get you to a hospital." He simply stands there, waiting.

Swallowing and reaching with my free hand, I take his glove and allow him to help me up.

A car engine revs behind me as a pair of headlights shine on us. I jump a little, I'm not proud to admit.

He turns me with a gentle nudge to my shoulder and I see that this is the infamous 'Batmobile' I've been hearing about. Everyone insists it's the real name of the thing, even if no one's ever heard Batman himself call it that.

Batman stuffs my attacker into a roller-coaster seat in the back and he's tucked away beneath a complicated mechanism and the outside shell of the car itself.

The Batmobile is sleek and black with slight dark blue accents here and there. Even a flash of yellow in the wheel wells and embroidered into the front seats in the shape of small bats and birds.

He helps me in and hops into the driver seat, shutting the retractable hood.

"Where's the boy wonder?" I ask.

"Robin is otherwise engaged." He answers, handing me a piece of gauze that dispenses from the dash of his car. "Press this against your jaw."

I do as he says and sigh in relief. "It isn't bleeding that much. He must have missed my artery."

"You still might have severed tendons or muscles that possibly need re-connecting." He shifts with a very complicated series of sticks and buttons that allow him to speed along so fast I can't see what we're passing out the window. "We'll be at the hospital in two minutes."

"But the hospital is at least ten minutes away from...nevermind." I sigh and roll my shoulders, working out a kink. "Thanks for the save, then."

"You nearly had it handled." He gruffly responds. "I almost waited to jump in, you seemed to be getting away."

"What, like you wanted to take the guy out _after_ I ran off down the street?" I lift a brow. "A hysterical woman is a bad thing to set loose in the populace."

"You aren't hysterical." He responds.

"And you're trying to talk me in circles." I grumble.

"I'd rather not play games with a profiler." He responds.

I blink at him and he brings the Batmobile to a smooth stop in front of the ER. "How did you know I'm a..."

"I found your file just now." He taps a button and a screen obscures the windshield, showing my I.D. Photo and displaying several of my 'transgressions'.

"Ugh. I hate that picture." I get up when the roof retracts and step out with a single look tossed over my shoulder. "Thanks, but you're creepy."

A small quirk to the edge of his mouth. "I've been called worse." And then he's speeding off.

...

The hospital personnel can't seem to get to me fast enough.

If Batman shows up-you hustle, apparently.

The doctors are all very test-happy, as apparently there's a pay rise and bragging rights for anyone who actually works on someone the Batman brings in.

After some poking and prodding, they let me go with some anti-biotic cream and several bandages. I'm instructed to change the bandage often and allow it to air out.

I don't even mention it was an attempted rape, I mean- I _am_ a psychologist of sorts, I know they'll want to take _hours_ to talk it over. So after staying the night in the hospital, sleeping off the pain pills, I get a ride home in a cab.

Then I proceed to sleep for another whole day, occasionally waking up to bat open the pain pills and take my next dose.

I slouch into my bathroom to grab a mirror and drag my tired ass into my kitchenette when I know I can't put it off any longer.

I'm sitting in my apartment, with a mirror on the kitchen table so I can change a bandage on my jaw from a knife wound. If I weren't so used to being injured by crazy or murderous people, I'd be upset.

Peeling the pure white gauze away from the pink, puckered skin and red stitches, I rub on some of the anti-biotic cream and put a new piece of gauze there. I'll have to air it out later so it doesn't get all gooey...ick.

Sighing and reaching for my pain pills, I crank open the bottle and pop one out. It's enough to make me a bit fuzzy, though thankfully it's an extra-low dosage like I asked for.

It'll take some time for it to kick in, since I wait till the last dose wears off before taking another one. I am _not_ getting addicted to pain pills, thank you very much.

Picking up my keys and walking out my apartment door, I lock it behind me and head down the staircase. They're just a bit too high and a little too short. Anyone not used to this particular unevenness would probably stumble a lot. I know I did when I first moved in, and every once in a while I forget to watch it.

This isn't the first time I've gone to the hospital for an injury to my jaw, though it's usually just a nasty bruise.

I'm only on the second floor, so it doesn't take that long to hop-skip down to the main floor. Our mailboxes are on the wall near the staircase so no one has to go up to the doors to get their mail. There's also an elevator, but I prefer the short walk.

Using the tiny key on my key-chain, I open my mailbox and lift a brow.

There's the normal mail, in white envelopes, and also a...green one?

Frowning and rubbing around my gauze when it starts to itch, I wonder if it's too early for Christmas cards. I huff a sigh and reach in to grab it all, pulling out the bundle and locking my mailbox back.

The journey back _up_ the stairs is a bit much when I'm on _any_ amount of painkillers, so I decide to take the elevator just to be safe. I mean, walking down with a rail is easy and quick. Walking up, I'm liable to trip and smack my teeth against one of the steps. Especially as fuzzy as I am.

The door pings and opens on my floor. I wish it had some music playing. A concerto or something would be better than a pop song, as much as I love pop. Rock and roll and pop and jazz and all that have words and are usually a bit too high-energy for an elevator. But something classical? Just the right tune could lift everyone's mood that gets on all day.

I know _I_ need it sometimes.

Walking in and locking my door behind me, I toss the two white envelopes down once I see they're both correspondence from the temp agencies I applied to. Those two can wait a couple minutes.

The green envelope has writing in bright purple ink on it. The return address is just a question mark, whereas the address on mine is impeccable. City, street and apartment address all scrawled in beautiful lettering. Even my name has had special care taken to it.

It's odd, but it might be from one of the people in my building. They might have sent me a gift anonymously- or I could have a secret admirer, or maybe someone just wants to see my reaction.

' _Stop over-analyzing. Open it.'_  I take the letter out, and unfold it-setting it down on the counter nearby. It's only after I've done it that I realize I should've at least worn gloves and a mask, in case of some kind of poison dust or something. It was part of the newsletter for new residents when I first moved in here.

The message written in green ink in the very middle is easily legible. Written so prettily, with a steady hand.

_**Well, aren't you something?** _

"Huh?" I scrunch my nose up and squint at the paper. There's something...

Lifting the paper up to the light, I huff in surprise.

There are question-marks revealed, over every _inch_ of it.

The question seems to mock me. Instead of congratulating me it seems to ask: Well? Aren't you something? As if to ask me if I'm just going to stand here slack-jawed instead of doing...whatever it is I should be doing. And as if whatever I should be doing should be some kind of exceptional.

And under the first message is a second, even more confusing than the first.

_**Congratulations on passing the preliminaries.** _

Oh, it's one of those TV show competition things, then. How did they get my name and address and still send it to the wrong person? And what show is affiliated with question marks and the colors green and purple?

Sighing, I walk into my bedroom to flop down to sleep once more.

' _I'll figure it out tomorrow.'_


	2. It's always better in the shadows

So it hits me.

In the middle of making breakfast, I realize I have no eggs. And since I've prepped the stove for some french toast and I have the bread out and everything, I'm sorta committed to the idea.

So I sigh heavily, turn off my stove, and remove the pan from the burner.

I leave my apartment, and walk down the stairs. I get all the way out to the front steps and down the sidewalk a ways before I realize I only have two bucks in my pocket. These pills are fucking up my rhythm.

I have to go back, get my wallet and write down everything I need before I leave again.

' _Grocery shopping sucks when you're high and injured.'_

I walk into the convenience store just down from my apartment and relax at the sight of the simple, not-quite-crowded store. It is a universal truth that in a convenience store, people will avoid looking at or talking to each other until someone else says something. Everyone assumes someone else is in a hurry or anti-social until they show themselves to be otherwise.

' _So I might not have to socialize, at least.'_

Walking up to the canned foods shelf, I pick up a can of Tomato soup and flinch at a sudden wave of pain from my jaw.

' _Crap! My meds are wearing off!'_

I play hot potato with the can for a second before dropping it completely. I grimace in expectation of the hollow ringing thud that is to come, but-

A hand lashes out and plucks the can from mid-air.

I blink and look up, not two inches away from some guy who just saved my soup. He's got bright green eyes, sort of red-brown hair and he's smirking at me.

He hands me the can with a flourish. "You dropped this."

' _Wow, what a voice.'_

"Yeah." I take the can and try to fight back an embarrassed blush. "I'm uh...convalescing." I point to my jaw where the bandage is probably painfully visible. "So I'll be ditsy and occasionally in pain for another week or so."

' _I'm not usually this clumsy and stupid, I swear!'_

His expression switches from amusement to irritation. "Another week?"

"Yeah..." Nice of him to be irritated for me and all, but it's kinda weird. Like, why does he care? "My pills are wearing off, so I've gotta move fast. Thanks for catching my soup."

I turn around and go after the eggs, then some milk and a couple other things I need. I'm rushing to throw things into the little basket I forgot to pick up when I first came in the store and had to go back for.

' _Man I'm stupid when I'm on medication!'_

After paying for everything and running all the way back to my apartment, I cook a damn fine plate of french toast and have a glass of chocolate milk when I'm done.

The rest of my week is spent in much the same way.

I look over my temp correspondence and groan in misery. No one wants a psychologist in this city except Arkham and the cops, and the cops aren't hiring.

' _I'm not working in that place. Besides the whole, "inmates consistently break out" thing-it's not enough pay or benefits for the hazard.'_

Flopping and sighing all over the place, I decide it's time to make a compromise and get a regular job until a profiler job comes up.

I could just join the force if they were hiring and offer my services for a discounted rate, but they shut down the police academy this month and they have too many people vying for the positions.

Gotham is a veritable war zone most of the time, and there are a lot of guys out there who want to get in on the action. Good, bad and just plain violent. That's why everyone has to undergo a strict entrance exam along with a battery of psychological tests.

I'd go through all that bullshit if I could get a paying job. My savings aren't going to last me another month.

Puffing air into my cupped hands, I frown at the temperature in here. It's too cool.

Getting up from my sofa and dropping the classifieds, I check my thermostat and squint.

Fifty-five degrees? When did I set it to that?

Setting it back to a toasty _sixty_ -five degrees, I rack my brains for a memory of the last time I checked the thermostat.

Not since I got back from the hospital at least, and it was warm before.

A mental shrug and I move on to my next issue. My bandage came off yesterday, and I've stopped taking the pain pills, but I still feel like everything is a bit wibbly-wobbly.

' _Maybe...'_ I grimace at the letter that came from Arkham and pick it up to look over again.

They just want a consultant on criminal behavior- a liaison between them and the police department. My duties would include interviewing someone in police custody before they could be taken to Arkham, checking up on those who have parole, and of course making sure they have adequate care when they're injured in the police department.

' _I wouldn't technically ever actually have to_ go _to Arkham, except for the interview and...any time they wanted to call me in for a meeting or something.'_ I cannot believe I'm considering this, but I really don't want to be a waitress or clerk or something.

The pay would be less than I'd like for this kind of work, but it's enough to keep my bills paid. Getting a second job to replenish my savings would be a good idea. I could do surveys on the internet, like I did when I was a teenager.

Groaning and picking up my cellphone, I dial the contact number and resign myself to dealing with the most dangerous criminal minds there are on a regular basis. Which, okay is like my dream job...

' _But I always work behind-the-scenes and help_ catch _bad guys. That's my thing.'_

I guess now my thing is protecting the bad guys from themselves. To their faces.

Great...

" **Arkham Asylum Security Office, identify yourself."** A gruff male voice demands.

"Uh...Robyn Loom? I contacted your Chief of Staff through a temp agency?" The security office answers the phones?

" **Yeah okay, checking your I.D. now. Date of birth?"** A bit abrupt, but I guess they have reason to be.

"Uh, March fourth." A pause, and I realize they'll need the year too. Therefore I scramble to blurt it out and the guard tells me to calm down. "Calm down? Do you realize how you sound?" I demand. "I get that your job is stressful, but you're seriously setting me on edge, isn't that kind of a no-no?"

" **Ah, hello?"** That son of a bitch transferred me in the middle of my rant. A feminine voice is on the line now, sounding a bit perplexed.

Quick, be professional! "Yes, this is Robyn Loom in response to the job inquiry-"

" **Oh, thank** _ **god**_ **you called."** The tired enthusiasm is snuffed out as quickly as it appears. **"We've been needing a new liaison for a month now, but no one seems to want the job."** Her nervous laugh is a bit unnerving, but she sounds exhausted so I'm just gonna let that go without comment. **"We've been sending doctors out instead and it screws up the whole schedule."**

"Yeah, I was just wondering if this pay-rate is fixed, and the benefits don't seem very-" I don't even get to finish.

" **The pay rate will go up the longer you work for us, and the benefits slowly accumulate over time. It's...it's between bankrupting ourselves between all the new employees or underpaying for the first month or two until we're sure they can handle it."** Her voice isn't pleading, but she is trying like hell to make it sound not that bad.

"Uh-huh." I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. "Well, I need a job as soon as possible. If I could get an interview scheduled-"

This woman is bad about interrupting me. **"Oh! That's not necessary. We've seen your references and have called your former employer. We were hoping you'd call and I have permission to give you your paperwork right now, if you'll give me your e-mail address. You can start working for us as soon as Monday!"**

"You guys are really hurting for a liaison, huh?" People with any kind of psychological/medical training or education probably don't want to compromise- it's either doctor, psychologist or nothing there, I'm sure. "Fine, send me the paperwork."

Since it's Friday, I'll have two days to prepare myself for the job. Which basically means spending some money to buy an actual pantsuit and some dress shoes. Not to mention getting my hair cut, getting new cosmetics and probably buying a shit-ton of pens.

' _I miss working behind the scenes already.'_


	3. Deductions only work if you've got something to work with

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's something for my faithful readers to chew on while I figure out the rest of my chapters...

' _I need tea_... _'_ I whine internally.

Standing in line at my favorite tea place, I shift my weight and check the e-mail notifications on my phone for the thousandth time today.

I sent my paperwork through e-mail this morning, and I know I probably won't get a confirmation until tomorrow at the soonest, but I'm a bit anxious. Until they confirm, they can say 'sorry, we found someone else'. As desperate as the woman on the phone sounded yesterday though...

"Ma'am?" A teenage boy with black and white dyed hair is lifting a brow at me.

I realize he's a barista and I'm at the front of the line. Flushing deep scarlet, I'm sure- I dig in my purse for my debit card while rattling off my order. "Hot tea with a splash of honey and a breakfast scone."

He scuttles around the behind the counter, dropping a scone in a plastic sleeve and dispensing hot tea into a to-go cup. He dispenses the honey and uses a swizzle stick to mix it in before putting on the lid.

He comes over and scoots the cup across to me.

"Everyone shut up, please!" A jovial voice calls out to us. "I have a little bit of an announcement to make."

Our hands freeze on my debit card. Me giving, him receiving and both of us unsure what's going on.

A collective gasp goes up.

I drop my debit card to the counter, and Zebra-hair backs into the coffee dispenser, looking paler than before.

I turn around and freeze again.

A man in a green suit, wearing a matching bowler hat. Purple shirt, question mark cane, and...embroidered question mark on his left breast pocket.

As he looks up, hands clasped over the top of the question mark cane's curve, I can see the mask. Purple. A pair of green eyes peering out of them. "Well! Now that I have everyone's full and undivided attention:"

He pulls a pistol out of his jacket with one hand and clears his throat. "Congratulations contestants! You know who you are." His tone darkens on that sentence. "Any of you who received the letter, probably around last week..." He twirls his cane and gestures to the front doors. "Go outside with my goons. Or...I could just shoot everyone here, right now."

The gun points into the crowd and a couple people start inching forward toward the doors. Zebra is one of them, walking slowly around the bar.

' _Do I have time to dial 911 without someone noticing?'_ I slip behind a group of people and tap my phone screen, but something is blocking my cell signal. _'Of course it's blocked.'_

This is The Riddler, after all. God, I'm so stupid. I don't even have the excuse of being woozy on pain pills. I've been off them for two days, I should've remembered and realized who sent the letter.

' _My stupidity is going to get me killed!'_

"Ah-ah-ah." A purple-gloved hand whips out to grab my phone. "Now, that just isn't polite." He hooks my shoulder with his arm, cane dangling next to my side in his loose grip. Gun pressed to my side. "Miss Loom. You're on the list."

"What do you want?" It's usually unwise to be so abrupt with criminals, but the Rogues are a special kind of crazy.

"Oh, I think you know." He chuckles and nudges my cheek with the gun's barrel. "Criminal Profiler like you? I'm sure you could tell me _exactly_ where we're going and what I want."

"I just moved here, so no. I couldn't." Leaning away from the gun, I press my lips together and sigh internally. "I barely know anything about any of the Rogues besides The Joker."

"Ah, yes." He drags me along next to him, gun buried between my ribs. "That case study that made Joker millions. Funny how the badder he gets the more money he makes, isn't it?"

"What-?" I'm yanked outside with he and a small group of patrons, plus Zebra-hair.

There's a black bus parked there, waiting for us.

The doors open, a couple of goons step off and we're all pushed up the steps into the vehicle, single-file.

A middle-aged woman with short hair and tears in her eyes is ahead of me. Zebra-hair is behind me and ahead of us all is a man with blonde hair, shaking like a leaf.

Four people from one place. Sending mail ahead of time, and even taking us in broad daylight...

"What does he want?" The woman whispers as she collapses into a bus seat.

"He wants Batman." I mutter back, sitting in the seat behind her, Zebra-hair taking the seat across from me.

"How do you know?" The blonde asks from the seat ahead of Zebra-hair.

The goons tromp on and settle behind us all, Riddler excitedly popping up the steps and down the aisle to the seat at the back of the bus.

Sprawling across the seat and pointing his gun at the ceiling, he calls to the front- "Let's be on our way!"

I sigh and roll my eyes, catching Blondie's terrified ones. "Because he's being too flamboyant about it. If he were trying to hide, he could do much better."

"She's right, you know." Riddler responds, voice carrying from the back as the bus moves forward. "What's a trail without a few breadcrumbs?"

"Why us?" The woman looks back at him with her eyes finally spilling over. "Why not just steal money or-"

"Oh this isn't _just_ about Batman!" He assures us. "I will give each and every one of my contestants the due attention they deserve." With that smooth statement, he presses a button next to him on the left armrest that shouldn't be on a bus seat.

A panel lights up above us all and spreads out to encompass our seats. Four lit panels above us, cycling through red and blue, green and yellow.

"Now, whoever can tell me what colors make up the rainbow-gets to survive." He stands and struts down the aisle to lean against the back of Zebra-hair's seat. " A few of them are appearing above you just for a hint! Anyone?"

Blondie sits up and speaks, panicking. "Red, orange, yellow, blue and purple!"

' _No!'_ I almost lurch out of my seat, but the gun goes off too fast for me.

"Such an easy question..." Riddler sighs. "Anyone else want to try?"

I watch Blondie sink down in his seat as I answer. "Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet. As well as infrared and ultraviolet." No matter how many times someone had tried to answer, they probably wouldn't have gotten it right without the last two.

Riddler grins and pats me on the head like a dog. "That's correct!"

He floats back to his spot and cuts a line across his throat with his hand.

We all startle when the floor below Blondie drops and his body is ejected from under the bus.

"Now. It's time for the lightning round!" He laughs as a rod emerges from the seats ahead of us.

A panel in the back of the seats slips open to admit them. They shove forward and pin us in our seats.

"And, Miss Loom?" Riddler calls my attention.

I turn my head to look at him, face fixed in an expression of careful disinterest.

"Try not to answer before everyone else gets a turn this time." He slants a sharp grin my way. "After all, if you're dead- who will run my labyrinth?"

' _Crap!'_ The rest of them are just fodder. I'm the only one he thinks has the brains to survive. Which means he's going to kill the other two, and then drop me into that Labyrinth that's even more famous than him. The bodies will lead Batman to the Labyrinth, and I'll be one more variable for him to worry about in there. Not to mention whatever _other_ purposes he might have in mind for me. _'I wish I'd taken that job before now. I would've had access to his files!'_

"Now. How much dirt is there in a hole that measures two feet by three feet by four feet?" Riddler hums.

No one answers him until he gets up, walks to the front and smacks Zebra-hair in the temple with the gun. The woman blurts the answer, but it's the wrong one.

"Twenty four-" She doesn't even get to finish before he's tapping a button on his cane.

She goes into convulsions as a result. I can hear the energy humming through that bar.

She goes limp as a noodle and gets dropped, just like Blondie.

"What was the answer, Miss Loom?" He points the gun at Zebra-hair, who's glaring rather impressively at him right now.

"If I say it right, will you let him go alive?" The Riddler tends to like bargaining, though no one who tries to cheat him ever survives. I know that much.

"If that's what you want..." He slips me a small smile and I know I've either done something very wrong, or something he was expecting me to do.

"There's no dirt in a hole." I answer.

A loud clap and a laugh and Zebra-hair gets dropped, screaming obscenities.

"Son of a bitch!" I direct that at him, of course. "Why did you do that!?"

"He might be disabled for the rest of his life or possibly have a fractured skull, but he's alive and I've let him go." He tells me, a very forthright gaze locked onto my face. "Isn't that what you asked for?"

"We're on the road!" I bark. "There are cars behind us!"

"Well that's just an act of god, isn't it?" He smirks and slithers on back to his seat. "Now, be good for the rest of the trip, or I'll just forget about your part in my little plan and-" He taps a finger against his cane. "Let you have it."

"I highly doubt you'd sacrifice a chess piece for being surly." I snap.

"Too true." He grins. "Just no trying to get out of your seat."

Me dying for 'misbehavior' could also figure into whatever plans he has. _'How do I counter a mind I don't know!?'_


	4. When being ignored is preferable to recognition

The bus doesn't travel that much farther after dumping the boy with Zebra-hair.

Just about a mile or two I'd say.

My mind races the whole way there, and it's only once we're pulling in that I realize I can probably ask questions. They have to be _smart_ questions though...I remember stories about the Riddler twisting words around until they were almost a lie, but not quite. He's not infamous for no reason.

"Is my death in any way integral to your plans?" I ask as he grasps my arm and 'helps' me to my feet.

He pauses as if he hadn't expected me to ask that particular question, which is odd-considering how he's been one step ahead until now.

"Your death isn't necessary, but I have planned in favor of it." He says. So simply, so honestly.

"So if I survive, that's alright with you?" I peer up into his eyes, and feel a stab of familiarity.

' _Do I know him?'_

"If you survive, my dear..." He pushes me ahead and down off the bus before finishing. "It will be because you're _exceptional_."

I fall silent as he leads the way into a warehouse, analyzing everything I've seen from every angle.

' _Killing them all, that last kid probably hit by a truck or something- he expected me to try and bargain for them at some point. He expected me to be the smartest one in there...and he expected that I'd ask questions...but he didn't expect me to be so blase about my own death, I guess.'_

It all points to him getting to know me, albeit very shallowly. It's very likely we've met, maybe even several times without me noticing.

I look him over, trying to find something-

' _Flaming head of orange-red hair, green eyes...his voice...'_

His _voice_.

I halt and stare at him. His gun is poking me in the ribs, but the curiosity seems to be enough to overpower whatever urgency he felt a moment ago. "What?" He asks.

"The convenience store." I deadpan and narrow my eyes. "How long have you been following me?"

His lips press together and turn up at the edges, as if trying to hide how pleased he is. "Usually people ignore me, when I change my appearance by a few degrees."

"How is your hair not falling out?" I ask incredulously. "Red-brown and back to orange-red- I _know_ that wasn't a wig!"

He chuckles and ushers me forward, firm grip tightening around my upper arm. "There are many ways to change the way you look. Wigs and hair dye are not the only games in town."

"What, some kind of high-tech hologram or something?" I wouldn't put it past him.

"I don't believe it would benefit me to tell you." He almost sounds like he's _teasing_ me.

"Of course not, but I still wanna know!" I insist.

This seems to delight him, instead of infuriating him, which means he's probably just happy to see any _proof_ of intellect at this point. Curiosity is one of the first indications of an intelligent mind, it's often said.

' _I should remember that.'_

"Perhaps you'll figure it out." He shoves me when we reach a door inside the industrial warehouse.

I slam through it and catch myself on my hands and knees. The door closes and locks behind me. I dart to my feet and shove my back up against the door, surveying the room with careful eyes.

Basically just concrete and windows. Windows with shatter-proof glass, displaying screen-savers.

' _Computer screens?'_ Wherever I am, it's most likely not going to be a picnic to get out.

The screen nearest me, to my left, lights up and displays an image of Riddler.

He's sitting in a desk chair, in a darkened room, curling his fingers together in front of his face. His eyes are intent and vibrant with excitement.

His hands sweep outward, revealing a grin. "Well, now the _real_ fun can begin!"

"What fun? What do I have to do?" I step up to look at the screen, but keep my body half-turned to keep the rest of the room in my periphery. "I thought you said I had to run the Labyrinth."

"Oh, you will." He assures me. "You have to pass the first round, though."

"Why do this part at all!?" I throw my hands up and turn fully to face the screen for a moment, watching his expression. "The Labyrinth itself would probably be enough to kill me. You're just...stalling." I narrow my eyes at the man on the screen.

The man who is currently smugly grinning at me. "Maybe you'll figure out the rest along the way."

Then his picture disappears and a puzzle pops up on the screen.

" **Finish the puzzles around the room to advance."** Riddler speaks over a loudspeaker now, slightly distorted.

"Why the fuck not, right?" I mutter to myself.

Each puzzle is a different kind of challenge.

Numbers, words, letters and equations. They're all some kind of riddle with the answer in the question. I take my time with each one, and it occurs to me after a while that these are just a bit too easy. Hard as fuck, but too easy for Riddler's usual fare.

The last riddle on the wall is timed. The three minute timer starts as soon as I stop in front of it. "What's up with the timer?" I ask as I read the words.

It's so short and simple, it seems like it must have been meant to be the first. But then I realize what he's doing as he speaks.

" **Three minutes to get the answer. Can't you figure it out in that much time?"** Giddy and taunting all at once.

"Doesn't really matter if I do it or not, does it?" I sigh. "If I got it wrong- most likely because I was too stressed and afraid to think straight- then I'd die here and you'd get your satisfaction at ridding the world of a bunch of idiots- plus something to hold over Batman's head. And if I don't, you get someone to run through your Labyrinth."

" **It gets so little attention anymore."** He mournfully agrees. **"I haven't found anyone even slightly capable in a long time. It's given me time to upgrade though, so that's a positive."**

"If I win the Labyrinth, is that going to piss you off?" I remember someone commenting on Riddler's rage when Batman wins.

" **If you don't** _ **cheat**_ **, I have no problem with you winning."** He informs me glibly. Two and a half minutes now.

"And cheating entails?" I tilt my head and keep my eyes on the clock. I can type the answer, one letter at a time as we talk. But I leave the last letter untouched.

" **Going outside the instructions I give you once you're inside."** He chuckles and the screen flashes, the last letter filling itself in. **"It's obvious you know the answer, and I am** _ **so**_ **eager to get started."**

The floor opens below me and I go sliding down a metal chute with a scream.

It's a short journey compared to what it could have been, I suppose. Just about twenty seconds sliding down an endless dark shaft and then falling onto a great cushion that bounces me around a bit once I fall out of the ceiling of a small room.

I gasp for air, face-down on the mattress-y floor and groan. "Why does this shit always happen to me? Am I just a magnet for crazy shit or what?"

" **I should say so!"** Riddler intones from somewhere above me, even giddier than before if you can believe it. **"Your file was very interesting to read you know. So entertaining, I decided to read the whole thing!"** He laughs. **"Seeing as my hard drive is only burdened with the most necessary facts, you should be very flattered."**

"Don't tell me what I should be, Riddler." I stand up and stretch, cracking my spine. "Women hate that."

A rolling chuckle echoes through the room. **"I'll remember that."**

' _Hopefully he's a man of his word and me winning won't be followed by instant angry death.'_ Sighing and walking over to the door, I cock my head at the handle-free surface.

" **Allow me."**

The door clicks and whirs, sliding into the slot in the wall.

"Is this you trying to be a gentleman?" I lift a brow and glance up at the ceiling.

" **I** _ **am**_ **a gentleman."** He sniffs. **"Killing women for being idiots doesn't mean I can't also open doors and pull out chairs for them."**

"True..." I walk through the doorway and blink a few times to adjust my vision to the light inside before moving forward again. "Just never occurred to me that you'd put much value into being nice to anyone."

" **And now that it has?"** I don't know what he's waiting for me to say.

"I don't really know you. So I can't say." I shrug. Better to admit to not having an answer than to insist I know and be a stubborn fool.

" **First Challenge, then."** He chuckles and it echoes a bit differently in this room. Metal, with a large fan built in the middle. **"Get past the fan without tearing yourself in half."**

The fan starts up, faster and faster until it's a blur of silver.

Only two 'blades' on the fan and they're not going so fast it's impossible, but... "Anything is allowed?"

" **I'll tell you if you verge on cheating territory."** He assures me.

So I search the room on my side for something to use or pick up for later while eyeing the fan. It's not kicking up much air in either direction, just mussing my hair.

I find nothing along the walls of the room, because it's smooth and featureless.

Sighing and walking back and forth, I study the entire fan from top to bottom. I find a solution at one end. _'Finding an easy way to get past without making any calculations could be considered cheating, or piss him off.'_

Still, it's all I've got.

So I crunch down into as small a shape I can get and crawl through the corner, with the fan blades whisking by at high speed, not two inches from my body.

I have to grasp my hair in both hands as I go and can only release once I'm far enough from the fan to be safe.

" **Creative."** He mutters. **"Not that outright intelligent, but what is genius without creativity?"**

' _Is he trying to bend his own rules for me?'_ Why would he do that? Unless...

The door opens on this side and I walk through, stopping when the door falls into place again and all sound disappears.

"At what point in this labyrinth am I supposed to die?" I lift a brow at the ceiling. "You seem awfully keen to cheer me on."

" **For good reason."** He says. **"I've only had two other winners in four years. Three almost got to the end, but went mad and killed themselves."** He sighs. **"I don't plan for you to die indefinitely, as I said. You** _ **may**_ **survive."**

"But there's a certain point at which you plan for that to be." I insist. "Maybe when the Bat shows up?"

" **You are very clever. I hope you survive."** He hums. **"Your next challenge. Find the hole in this room."**

I blink and glance around the rounded room. There are no holes, pits or other flaws in the walls.

I walk around and look up and down the curvature, wondering if there's a time limit and then discounting that worry. If there was, he'd have told me. Probably with some creepy enthusiasm, too.

Searching the floor and ceiling and wondering at how he got someone to build a completely spherical room for him...

And then I stop in the middle and roll my eyes. "The room itself is a hole-"

The floor drops out beneath me again and his laughter follows me down.


	5. I'm beginning to hate you

The landing is a lot less gentle this time, and I have to roll with the impact to keep from breaking my legs or smashing my head against something.

I'm in a room covered with paint on every surface. There are even a few tables and chairs in here, covered in paint. The paint is purple and long-dried but with little drips here and there on the undersides of things...

"Don't you dare!" I shout and point at the ceiling.

" **Figured out the penalty for failing, have you?"** He drawls, a smirk in his voice. **"I won't need to, so long as you can find me the Ace."**

I blink. "Playing cards? I thought that was Joker's thing?"

A hum and silence.

"No time limit or anything?" I sigh and step around the room, grimacing at the tackiness under my sneakers that almost sticks me to the floor with each step.

" **No. But the wrong one will start the filling process."** He informs me.

"And since everything is covered in purple goop, I won't know if it's the wrong card till I peel off the paint." I huff.

First step is to start peeling, I think. So I start with the floor and dig my fingers in.

Peeling up big hunks of paint, I flip them over and rip the hunks apart to search for the cards. There are a few all over the place, but I toss them aside, not even checking.

' _Just finding it would be too easy. It has to be somewhere I wouldn't expect. Or...'_

He never said it was a card. I huff at myself and my assumptions and stand up, tapping my jaw with a paint smeared fingertip.

' _Ace can refer to a card, someone who's asexual, a fighter pilot...'_ Running through the slang and every reference in a movie I've come upon, I try to figure out what it could possibly be.

Oh my god.

I let my head fall back and scoff at myself. " _I'm_ the Ace."

A chuckle and the door is opening. **"I can see my faith has been well-placed."**

"I can't tell what way I am, but it's obvious in hindsight." I mutter and walk through the open door. "Am I the Ace-up-your-sleeve, your friend Ace or the expert Ace?"

" **There are many ways to describe a person. One description doesn't automatically disqualify any others."** That's a roundabout way of saying 'none of your business' without outright saying it or lying. Misdirection of speech, that's his usual game isn't it?

Through the door to another room, this time white walls covered in black and green question marks. That shimmer.

" **Find the pattern and follow it."** He falls silent, and I almost feel like his eyes are burning holes in my head. Though I can't see him and have no idea where a camera might sit in here.

The question marks are all placed in haphazard places with no rhyme or rhythm to them whatsoever so far as I can tell at first glance.

The most obvious answer is rarely the right answer when dealing with a riddle or puzzle.

So, instead of focusing on the question marks- I look for something else. Something not immediately noticeable as a pattern, or maybe a differently colored question mark somewhere...

Sighing and sinking to my knees, I plop backward on my ass and bring my legs up to rub them with my hands. "Could you stop dropping me down chutes any time soon?"

" **I suggest you start enjoying it."** He says.

"Fan-freaking-tastic." I mutter and lie back on the floor to crack my whole body. Rolling my wrists and ankles until they pop and then doing my fingers and neck. "Fuck."

Lying on my back, I can see the ceiling and walls from a different perspective.

The space between question marks is a very stylized arrow pointing right at the wall to my left. So I get up, walk over and reach up to trace a finger down the wall until I hit a question mark that feels different than the rest.

It looks the same as all the others, but feels like plastic instead of painted drywall.

So I take a deep breath, push the plastic and grimace at the click.

A door slides open to my right at the end of the room. _'Thank god, no chutes.'_

I trot over to the door and stop to blink at the pitch black beyond the gaping portal. Stepping forward enough to allow the door to close behind me, I wait for my vision to settle.

" **This room is covered in traps."** Riddler says. **"Navigating around them will test your spatial awareness, reflexes and of course there's a pattern to them you should be able to figure out."**

"Of course." I mutter and wrinkle my nose. "I almost wish you'd just shoot me."

" **Allow yourself to enjoy it, Robyn."** He purrs. **"You'll find it more engaging than any job or hobby you've taken up for entertainment till now."**

"I know you really think that-" I hold up a finger and glare at the blackness, up toward the ceiling. "But it'd be nice if I was given the choice not to. And no deadly consequences would be good too. But you know that. And complaining will get me absolutely nowhere."

Rolling my shoulders and surveying the room around me as best I can, I take a step forward.


	6. Existential pain is the worst

Crawling over cement, with scorched skin and ink and paint blackened fingertips is painful.

I'm pretty sure my ankle is at least cracked if not broken. My wrist feels like I jammed it and my body is bruised and battered like a steak that's been tenderized.

"Ah..." A voice so familiar, that evokes such a feeling of anger and confusion, compassion and fear. "So you've made it."

Riddler kneels in front of me and lifts my face with a hand under my chin.

I can barely flutter my eyelashes and croak at him.

"You don't have to speak, Robyn." He strokes my jaw with his thumb, fabric of his purple gloves gliding over my skin. Silk? "You've passed. Beaten the Labyrinth. And all before our dear Batman could bust in and interrupt us."

He lifts me from the floor and sweeps my legs with his arm. I whimper when my body throbs in pain and sigh heavily at the feeling of his breath on my face. Drifting over my cheekbone and blazing like a brand.

He carries me through an open doorway as my consciousness slowly fades. "Though our time is up, I'm afraid."

There's some jostling after that, and I fade in and out of consciousness in between falling out of someone's arms, being picked up and I could swear I was _flying_ at one point.

The darkness surrounding me becomes numbing and only mildly painful in places and I fall into complete ignorance of the world around me.

The flames of the first trap in that dark room caught me by surprise, and I ended up getting my entire arm burnt before I could get away without triggering another trap. Remembering the pain is enough to send me into fresh convulsions and whimpers, at least within my mind anyway.

I got smacked and whacked a lot in that room before I found my way out.

I had to fashion a bandage from my shirt and go through the rest of the rooms with just a bra and pants on. Riddler didn't even seem to notice I was half-naked and only became more excitable as the difficulty steadily increased.

I had to jump across pillars, like lily pads in a pond, and cracked my ankle trying to get to the doorway.

Broken glass and metal shavings littered the floor of one of the rooms after that, and I'm sure my body will be covered in scar tissue now. Especially when I tripped over my own feet and smacked into the floor face-first. I caught myself on my hands, but I nearly regretted it.

Humming wakes me, after an uncountable amount of time.

There's sunlight streaming through a window, and I clench my eyes shut as soon as I can blink them open. "Ugh..." I groan and try to lift my arm to rub my eyes. It stops still, bandaged heavily and attached to many wires and tubes.

"Oh, you're awake." A woman in a white outfit walks over to check the monitor attached to my finger. "Don't move too much, you're still healing."

I croak and clear my throat. She gets me a glass of water and allows me to sip through a straw.

Coughing and clearing my throat again, I ask. "Riddler?" I squeak a bit, and my throat is so raw it hurts just to say that much.

"Uh." She glances around and bites her lip. "He was arrested. I think that's all I'm allowed to tell you. Sorry."

I close my eyes and sigh. _'Well, at least he'll be occupied for a while. A couple of weeks minimum that I can use to convalesce and get over this.'_

* * *

 

Gotham Police Department

A man in a green suit lounges in a prison cell as a man in dark body armor stands outside the bars and questions him.

"Why take _her_ , Riddler?" Batman's cowl eyes narrow and the glinting white screens almost seem to glow. "A profiler, straight out of college with no background in science, math or robotics?"

"Her _background_ is exactly the reason, I'm sure you've been made aware of it." Riddler flicks his wrist as if to ward off an annoying gnat. "She is exceptional in all the ways that count, and I am glad to say that she is quite resourceful and adaptive as well."

"How long have you been watching her, and how many of her hardships have been you?" Batman grips a bar and stares Riddler down.

Riddler plays with the top button on his shirt, hanging by a thread. "Oh, I just _met_ Miss Loom. So you can be certain..."

His green eyes lift to connect with white and a grin turns up the ends of his mouth as he rips off the button. "I'm not quite through with her yet."

"She'll have protection now, Riddler." Batman lifts his head and releases the bar. "You won't be able to take her anywhere without the police _and_ myself knowing about it."

"I'm quite aware of your proficiency for stalking, my dear Batman." Riddler chuckles. "But I'm sure you know as well as I, that accomplishing your goals quickly and out of sight is much easier than anyone thinks."

"I'll be watching." Batman warns and walks off down the hall, disappearing through a security door with a buzz and a clank.

Riddler tips his head back against the wall behind him and inhales deeply. A smirk appears on his face as his eyes close. "Oh, we're going to have such _fun_ together, Robyn."


	7. I live for the Applause, and I'll probably die for it too

My burns aren't third-degree and will barely leave scars so long as I apply a special cream daily after they heal.

That's what my doctor told me. Also I will have to spread the cream on the rest of my scars every day if I want to keep them soft and shrink them until they're relatively invisible.

For at least a month afterwards. If not two, depending on my skin's malleability.

For weeks, I sit in a hospital bed, healing and doing paperwork for my new job because god knows I can't afford not to work now that I have medical bills.

The docs at Arkham were so happy I didn't want to quit after a run-in with Riddler, they even gave me health coverage.

Which is good because it's more expensive than I thought to heal a burned arm, broken ankle and contusions and lacerations all over my body.

Good news about that paperwork: I have access to all the Rogue files I want. So I requested Riddler's entire Dossier and I'm currently staring at the file with disbelief written across my face.

The file itself is rather small, without all the police reports and personal testimonies from his surviving victims. It seems his doctors could only ever get riddles out of him when they asked him questions, unless he was heavily drugged- and then he just talks in circles.

Some of the riddles have been solved and some speculation about the meaning of them as they pertain to the question asked has been scribbled here and there.

' _These people are idiots.'_ I stare at the paperwork, absolutely baffled. There are only two doctor's names in the files who seem to have any genuine insight and they terminated their sessions with him because he's _arrogant_.

' _Of course he's arrogant and annoying, HE'S CRAZY_. _'_ Sighing and rubbing my temples as a headache settles itself behind my eyes, I pick up a pen.

Scrawling notes in the margins, solving riddles and correlating possible answers to the questions asked- I marvel at the absolute certainty of some of the doctors that Riddler is outright deflecting- and their dismissal of anything at all that comes out of his mouth anymore.

' _From all of this information I can see Riddler thinks he's giving perfectly reasonable answers.'_ If his doctor is worth anything, they'll figure it out and put the effort into solving it. _'It's a defense mechanism as well as a test.'_ If you don't care or aren't intelligent enough to help him, you won't. If you are, you will and the test and mechanism will have made sure he's weeded out the rest.

' _He has trust issues. That's what that is.'_ Huffing as my vision blurs, I glare at the IV next to my bed. It gives me another dose every once in a while for my pain management and it's screwing with my mental faculties.

' _Just one more week and I'll be discharged and able to actually do my job.'_ As it is now, I have to do phone interviews with the criminals to determine their sanity. I've actually caught at least four of them trying to fake insanity for a plea bargain and wonder how many could just say 'I wanna kill myself' or 'voices talk to me' and be admitted to an asylum instead of going to prison like they should.

' _Lazy cops and lawyers and fucking doctors with more greed than actual sense or compassion.'_ People with compulsions like Riddler and the other themed rogues have no choice in their actions. They call out for help with everything they do, every word they speak, every move they make. They don't know it themselves, and most of them have probably given up hope for ever getting help.

Groaning and pushing away the file, I curl up under the sheets and succumb to the pull of the morphine.

Only to be woken when the sun has gone down by a nurse with a stack of envelopes in her hands. "I have your mail."

"Thanks." I had to get someone to go and get it every day, since I need to pay bills and Arkham can't just send my paperwork to the hospital through a fax machine or something. It's very sensitive material.

She leaves them on my food tray and I swing it over my lap, turning on the lamp on the bedside table.

I pause when I see a flash of green under the white and manila.

' _No. The police will have processed my mail and would bring it to me personally if it was from...'_

I grasp the edge of the envelope and pull it out from under the others.

A big purple question mark dons the front of the green envelope, but there's nothing else. Which means he either paid someone to take it directly to my mailbox...or directly to the hospital where it could be mixed in and given straight to me instead of going through police processing.

Before I can think, I'm ripping it open and laying the purple paper out on the table. Poison green ink standing out on the page. Gold embellishing the letter at the corners.

_**Congratulations** _

Seriously, that's all it says. Because of course it is.

' _Riddler considers himself a gentleman, so he probably thinks it'd be rude_ not _to congratulate me.'_ Still, to go to these lengths...

My hand reaches out for the phone on my bedside table and I dial the number for the security office taped to the top of it.

' _If he has someone implanted in the hospital, the police guarding my room and the entrance should know.'_


	8. The Cat's in the Bag

The GCPD is a lot rowdier than I'd expected.

People running in every direction, some of them desk clerks, some of them officers. Squeezing between and around each other, their desks and of course the little benches holding the suspects.

There are quite a few women handcuffed to one of those little benches tonight. Faces made up with vibrant colors- hair done in simple but sexy ways.

' _Escorts.'_ They're even wearing those cute little dresses with the hip and back cutouts that are so hot in Gotham this season.

I sigh and walk between frenzied bodies, one hand in my pocket to guard my wallet from any of the suspects who might be pick-pockets.

Two days out of the hospital and I've been called in to deal with someone they didn't think I'd be able to do over the phone. They were so happy to let me do it over the phone before, I got somewhat suspicious when they insisted.

But. Here I am.

And when I get to the end of the hall off the entry, and knock on Interview Room Three's door- it opens. And I can kind of see where their insistence may have sprouted from.

Catwoman is handcuffed to a table.

I can tell it's her because her cat mask with the ears is sitting on the table next to her. She's glaring at a pair of cops in the corner.

They look so smug.

' _They must not know her modus operandi.'_ Catwoman isn't really a danger to anyone except jewels, and she gives those back. She just likes breaking into places and taking shiny things. Classic case of kleptomania that was exacerbated by some kind of personal trauma no one can pin down.

Yes, she needs help, but- I can see a large bump on her head that she's covering with a single un-gloved hand. So whether she needed to be caught or not, she didn't need to be smacked across the head with a billy like that.

' _Or maybe they used something else.'_

I sigh and take my seat across from her. "All police out."

"You're supposed to have a guard." One of the two in the corner informs me.

I blink wide eyes at him and gasp. "Am I? I had no idea." My expression flattens. "You are aware that when I'm called in, I technically have last say on everything concerning the prisoner until I determine where they should go, right?"

They glance at each other and the guy outside the door leans in to grab the handle and give them a look.

They walk over and out to stand with the third guard and look confused. When the door closes, I snap around to smile welcomingly at miss Kyle. "Do you need some ice for that?"

"No, thank you." She scrunches her nose and rubs around the bump very carefully. "They'll take care of that wherever I'm going. Ice gives me a headache."

The fact that she's needed it often enough that she knows it gives her a headache, doesn't escape me. "Well, if you want some Aspirin or something, let me know."

She gives me a noncommittal hum.

"I haven't been briefed on the situation so maybe you should give me your version of events first." I lean back in my seat and cross my arms, making myself comfortable. "After all, I have to decide where you're going and I'd rather not send a perfectly healthy person to an Asylum."

"I've been to Arkham." She says. "It's liable to drive a sane person mad."

"Mm-hm." I agree.

"Well." She huffs a sigh. "Those two morons decided they were going to pin a murder on me."

"Pin a murder on you?" I'm already confused.

"They have an outstanding case in my part of town. Torn up with an X-acto knife, organs pulled out and played with- a couple of markings that look like claw marks." She holds up her gloved hand, showing off the clawed ends that sparkle a bit when the light hits them.

"Well don't worry about that." I roll my eyes. "Even if you were to murder someone, it'd take a lot longer for your psyche to deteriorate to _that_ point. There'd be a whole string of bodies getting steadily worse. Was there?"

"There were a lot of bodies." She curls her lip slightly in disgust. "But they were all the same."

' _There's a serial killer that I'm not catching.'_ God, that's depressing.

"So long as that information is corroborated by evidence reports, you'll have nothing to worry about." I lean forward and interlace my fingers, setting my chin on top of my joined hands. "Can I ask you a question?"

"That's the whole point, isn't it?" She waves her hand to indicate the room.

"This is about something other than your case." I crack my neck and sigh. "Do you have any insight into The Riddler?"

"Riddler?" She rolls her eyes. "I've got your special insight. He's an egomaniac who only cares about himself and people _near_ his level. Because of course he'll never admit anyone is smarter than him." She drums her claws on the table. "Anything specific you're looking for?"

"He's taken quite a few people. Some of them have gotten out alive." I bite my lip and cross my legs. "Without Batman's aid, I mean. The 'winners'." I use finger quotes. "How does he usually react to one of them?"

"You mean, is he happy about it?" She scoffs. "Anytime anyone survives by being clever and innovative, he calls it 'cheating'. The Batman finds ways out of his traps all the time, going through walls or finding weak points and he calls him a 'cheater' every time."

"And if the person just got through by the skin of their teeth? Doing as he asked?" I know there's some side of him I don't know with just meeting him and seeing his files. There has to be more to the man.

She shrugs. "He's got winners, but he usually just forgets all about them after they've finished one of his puzzles."

"Thank you." I smile and turn to knock on the door with my foot.

The guard opens the door and lifts an eyebrow at me, while the two who caught her are standing by a desk a bit further away looking churlish.

"Could you get me all the case files for the crimes she's being accused of, and her own personal file?" I give him a sweet smile. "And if you would get me the boss of those two young gentlemen as well, I'd be appreciative."

"No problem." He shuts the door with a nod.


	9. So Now I've Got TWO Jobs

"So, as you can see- Catwoman isn't nearly disturbed enough for this to be her. And I'm fairly certain those two punks who picked her up should be written up or fired for the abuse they dealt her." I drop the files on top of the Commissioner's desk. "And if you want my professional opinion, you should probably be looking for someone with a lot of extra change."

"What?" He picks up the files and walks around to the filing cabinets behind him, opening a few and replacing the folders there. "Extra change?"

"Rich kids." I sigh. "The evolution of the psyche is complete, so probably someone at least in their early twenties. But they'll probably have a trust fund and drive a fancy car."

"And you know this how?" He lifts a brow at me and pushes his glasses further up his nose.

"Firstly, there were no witnesses because the area had been cleared beforehand." I tick off the points on my fingertips. "This could be a rich mob kid, with a lot of lackeys or just a dumbass with dumbass friends who do whatever he tells them."

"What makes you think he's young, in the first place?" He settles into his seat and laces his fingers together.

"He cuts like he means it, but the incisions themselves are sloppy. And playing with the organs the way he did?" Something just hits me as childish. "If he were older, he'd have more practice, he'd have refined his technique. He's just newly discovered the desire and the feelings he gets from fulfilling it."

"I'll keep it in mind." Is his response.

The same response everyone gives when they think my profession is a crock.

"Whatever." I mutter and leave his office, slamming the door behind me.

' _Juvenile.'_ I reprimand myself. _'But god if that man doesn't infuriate me.'_

Talking to me like what I say makes no sense, like I'm a quack. I can understand how this must have infuriated Riddler to the point of madness if he really is as smart as he thinks he is.

' _The difference being that_ I _don't expect everyone to be good at everything.'_ Still, it'd be nice to get a little respect for my profession instead of being constantly dismissed or told that I'm a fraud.

Leaving the station and turning down the street toward my apartment, I steer away from my old favorite coffee place when it comes into view.

I go clear across and down the street to another coffee place instead.

Opening the door to find an old English style cafe is enough of a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. But when I see they have honey, mango and pineapple syrups for their teas, I fall in love.

Large chairs, upholstered in the puffiest leather I've ever seen. Patched with off-color swatches and I feel so _comfortable_ just looking at them.

So I walk up to the counter, sparse as the clientele is- I'm the only one in line- and smile at the young woman behind the counter. "Hot with a mango splash?"

"Sure, I'll get that for you." She taps the keys on the register and smacks it when it makes a grinding noise. It chimes and pops up a small tab on the top. "That's gonna be a dollar twenty five."

"Cheapest cup of tea or coffee on the street." I marvel. "How are you not full?"

"We're more of a leisure kind of cafe." She smiles. "People packed in here shouting for orders would disturb our readers. We're also a bookstore, you see." She points behind me to where stacks of books are. "We prefer to advertise by word-of-mouth. Good amount of clientele that way, but not so much we're overwhelmed."

"That's pretty cool. From my perspective, I get a whole cafe almost to myself." I chuckle and hand her a dollar and a quarter. "Is there a tip jar, too?"

"Oh no." She waves away that notion. "We work for a flat rate, if we want more money, we just have to work longer and get overtime. The owners don't believe in handouts unless you're homeless or disabled, so..."

"That is _also_ pretty cool." Teaching young people to appreciate what they get and to work for their shit. Definitely a good idea. "So do you make them by hand, or...?"

She turns and presses a button on some amazingly old-fashioned-looking machine and pops a to-go cup under it.

The golden liquid spills, steamy and beautiful until the cup is full. Then she pulls the cup out from under it, finds a bottle of mango syrup and adds a splash. The cup is _really_ full now. She puts the topper on, adds a swizzle stick in the open top and slides it across the counter to me. "Have a nice day."

"Thank you." I pick up the cup and inhale the mango-aroma with relish. It's been so long since I had mango tea.

Finding a book to read would be hard if I didn't have a subject already in mind. There are so many shelves in the back, and quite a few stacks are dedicated to fiction, autobiography and of course medical journals.

Combing through the psychology section for something pertaining to the criminal mind, I see A Study in Rogue Behavior The book in which the psychologist studied Joker.

My hand smacks into someone else's as we both reach for the book at the same time.

Our hands retract and we glance at each other. While I'm distracted with taking in his soft brown hair, glasses and square chin- he reaches up and snatches the book.

He hands me the book and tilts his head at me. "You're acquainted with this study?"

"Had to be." I take it from him and smile. "Part of my college itinerary, along with those books Strange wrote before he went Rogue."

"A Psych major, then." He smiles with a pair of plush lips that would be _very_ distracting if I weren't so aware of exactly who he is.

' _Why are all the pretty guys nuts?'_ Seriously, Riddler is not the exception. A lot of the Rogues have at least _some_ attractiveness to them.

"Psych major, Art minor- a couple of elective cooking classes." I shrug. "Little bit of everything. Though I prefer to get into the minds of the criminals to catch them rather than treat them."

"How can you resist?" He smiles so amicably as he questions me. "The very depths of someone's psyche may hold secrets that no one has ever discovered before. Perhaps things that will never be discovered again."

' _The way he talks...'_ So similar to Riddler, but more grandiose.

"True." I concede and pull out my phone, typing a text as I speak. "But that's usually a bit too slow-paced and personal for me. I like to keep some distance and keep moving. If my brain isn't working on something it atrophies." Putting my phone away after the text sends, I smile back and huff a laugh. "Not like my brain is a prize or anything."

"I'm sure it's more valuable than you realize." He is surprisingly polite. Probably because _he_ knows who _I_ am.

"I'm pretty sure it's just your regular old brain." I shrug. "Everyone has the potential to be something more. Sometimes they just...give up."

A siren blips outside as the blue and red lights shine in the front doors.

"Terribly sorry about this, Dr. Crane." I gesture at the front door. "If you just go, they'll probably be a lot easier on you."

"Dr. Crane." He hums, just slightly. "You knew who I was from the beginning, but I sensed no fear at all."

"You can kill me in painful, terrifying ways." I sigh. "But so could everyone else in this damn city. After a while the reality of the danger...loses its edge."

His eyes search mine as the officers enter, guns drawn.

"Everyone get down on the ground!"

As one, he and I go to our knees and I watch as they handcuff him, and the few others in the store peer around corners from crouching positions or hide their faces in the carpet.

He smiles as they heft him to his feet. "I hope we meet again, Miss Loom."

Sighing as they walk him outside and answering my phone after the officers report in, I wonder if he came here specifically to feel me out- or if it was just a happy coincidence. Some other purpose here?

"Commissioner Gordon." I greet the man on the other end of the line.

" _You alright, Loom?_ " His question is a grunt, but the concern is appreciated nonetheless.

"Fine. I think he heard about me from the Rogue grapevine and wanted to feel me out. Though he might have had another purpose here or in this area of Gotham too, so I'd put out feelers and get an interrogation expert at him immediately to make sure."

" _You think he just ran into you by accident and decided to say hello?_ " The skepticism in his voice is familiar and irritating.

"Contrary to popular belief, Sociopaths _do_ tend to have a bit of whimsy every now and again. And even when they don't, they're fiercely adaptive. I think he either came to see me specifically or just ran across me and rolled with it to get a feel for me." I roll my eyes and point to my phone when I get up to the counter, mouthing 'boss'.

The girl there giggles a bit nervously and smacks two to-go cups in a holder, taking my first cup and settling it in a third hole. 'On the house, thank you' she mouths back at me.

I grin and pat her hand as Jim responds.

" _I'll have 'em look into it, but I doubt it's anything that big. Scarecrow's been mostly inactive when he breaks out of Arkham lately. Batman says he's going through an...Apathy Spiral?_ "

"Hm." I walk out of the cafe and sigh. "I may have piqued his curiosity, or he may be coming out of it- better safe than sorry in any case."

" _I agree with you there. And since Batman seems pretty confident that you're right about that serial killer- I was wondering if maybe you wouldn't consult on a couple of other cases that are ongoing in the area._ "

 _This_ pauses me for a moment and I blink stupidly while standing on the sidewalk, still and nonplussed. "What, so Batman verified my report and _now_ you think I'm worth something?"

" _I don't know what you mean, but yes- Batman is a freelance consultant, has a place within the justice system now. I trust his judgment. So even if I don't really understand psychology and I think it's all voodoo, if he says you've got something that might help, I'm willing to give it a shot._ "

"So you don't believe in the science I've spent _years_ studying, but a guy in a costume tells you it's all cool and now I'm part of the club." I deadpan. "That's just _awesome_. I'll help, but no more condescending to me or acting like I'm talking nonsense. And don't say you've never done that because I can remember and remind you of each and every time."

"... _Fine, I'll try to be more conscious of that._ " Sounding like he's doing me a favor, but the fact that's conceding at all is probably a blessing. " _When can you come in?_ "


	10. You Don't Make Me Feel Safe At All Dude

They tried to keep me away from him, but I refuse to be molly-coddled.

Riddler broke out of Arkham not two days after I had my run-in with Scarecrow in the cafe.

He escaped into Gotham just long enough to do...something. I don't know what, but he was caught wayyy too easily. I told the Commissioner it was too easy and he was probably planning something further, but he just shrugged and said nothing could be done till he moved on it.

So here I am, in the interview room with Edward Nashton, Edward Nygma- whatever you want to call him. The Riddler sits in all his green and purple glory, grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

"Miss Loom." He greets me as I close the door behind me. "I hadn't thought you'd be the one to see me."

"Uh-huh." I roll my eyes and slouch into the seat across from him. "What exactly _did_ you expect, then?"

"I expected a doctor from Arkham to tell me you had declined to deal with me." He informs me, almost giddily. "I'm glad to see you surprising me."

"One would think you'd be unhappy to be proven wrong about something." I lift a brow at him.

He simply grins at me.

"You're supposed to ask him what the hell he was doin' on that side of town." The cop in the corner is apparently impatient. I don't blame him, as Riddler was caught in a domestic area.

"What he said." I gesture at the cop and flop his file on the table between us. "Only thing in that area are homes, and no one was found dead or reported missing...so I'm at a loss."

"Nothing dangerous to anyone, so I don't think it concerns you." He hums. "Do what you will or what you won't, here is your domain- but we both know you won't get any more than that out of me."

"I'm sure." I sigh. "You're going to Arkham either way, so it's not like I have anything to offer for the information."

"I haven't the urge to run out and find another contestant, so I'll make you a deal." He tilts his head at me, eyes vibrant and focused. Intent on mine.

"What kind of deal would that be?" I'm indulging the offer because outright denying it without hearing it will just piss him off. And not in the way I usually try to piss off psychopaths.

His grin is muted now. "I want contact."

"Contact?" I have no idea what that means.

"With you." He clarifies. "A phone call every week, or a letter. Either way, I want...contact." He hits the hard consonants harshly with his teeth flashing at me.

The door opens behind me. I turn around and blink wide eyes at the man in the dark suit who just walked in.

Batman gestures to the guard to get out. Oh crap.

I try to get up to follow the guard, but his hand descends to my shoulder to shove me down into my seat. Gentle, but insistent. He doesn't want me to go anywhere.

"Riddler." Batman addresses him. "You know better than to try and bargain for anything."

"It isn't like I'm asking for a reduced sentence." He scoffs and sits back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head.

' _He took off his handcuffs.'_ I settle into my seat in an easy pose that will make it a lot simpler to jump out of it and over to the wall if necessary.

"I just want to check in every now and then." He hums and tilts his head, smiling at Batman. "A single sentence is all I require. And what I'd offer in return..." He grins wider, eyes half-lidded. "Is my protection."

"Protection from what?" Batman hops in to ask before I can even open my mouth. "If you know as much about her as you let on, you know she can protect herself."

' _Damn straight.'_ It's weird to have the urge to fist-bump Batman, right? But, if he's offering protection, that means he thinks I'll need it. Which means, some shit's about to hit the fan.

"She can protect herself from henchmen and myself." He hums and stares up at Batman. "But what about Joker? Penguin?" He turns his attention to me now and seems a bit peeved. "Scarecrow?"

I lift a brow.

He tips his head back to look down his nose at me. "Jonathan told me you and he had a nice, calm conversation before he was taken away by the boys in blue." It's more admonishing than judgmental- either way, it irks me.

"He came up to me, started talking, so I talked back." I shrug and roll my eyes. "And whether I won your labyrinth or not- You. Do. Not. Own. Me." I punctuate each word with a baring of my teeth.

He is still and silent for a long moment. "You are just _so_ beautiful when you're unafraid, Robyn." He leans forward on the table, hand under his chin, staring into my eyes. "And Jonathan noticed."

It's like an anvil was dropped in the room.

Everything is silent and still for all of two seconds. Then Batman is leaning down between us to break Riddler's line of sight. "What is he planning?"

"Nothing _now_." He chuckles and leans back in his seat, running a hand through his fiery coif. "Not since I broke out- or did you not get the memo?"

"His coma was _your_ doing, then." Batman leans up and steps away from the table, cape swishing around him with a dramatic flutter.

"Of course." He tosses a hand up, shrugging grandly. "He was entirely too enamored with our dear Miss Loom. Left alone, he could delude himself into thinking she belongs to him."

"Like you do?" Batman shoots him a look from under that cowl, I can't tell you how I know- a bunching of the fabric, or a cloud in his aura- I can't say. I just _feel_ it.

"Oh no." Riddler laughs and leans back in his seat even further, crossing his right leg over his left and cupping both hands around his knee. "The most wonderful thing about Robyn, is..." He smiles so brightly at me, with such _approval_ in his eyes. "She's too cunning, too strong, too willful- to be _claimed_ by anyone."

My heart leaps up in my throat. How could it not? That's like female catnip. Is this why so many women think they can change the rogues? Fuck, so much makes sense now.

Psychopath. Obsessive compulsive and frequently murderous...yeah, that's all I gotta remember for any affection to melt away.

Batman is typing something into his gauntlet overlay computer.

Riddler is staring at me, solemn and still but with a brightness to his eyes that just cuts straight through the heart of me.

' _Crap.'_ My expression flattens and it begins. All over again. _'The last time this happened, the guy nearly killed me...'_

"Loom." Batman turns to me and I give him my full attention. "Batgirl is waiting outside. She will escort you to your residence. She and Robin will be taking shifts to watch you."

"Whatever you want." I sigh and stand up. "It's not like I can refuse, is it?"

"No." He agrees, flatly.

"Isn't his monosyllabic manner just _scintillating_ , my dear?" Riddler draws my attention as I go to leave. "Just sets the mind abuzz with possible meanings."

"There's really only one meaning you can take from any of it." I mutter at him, eyes narrowing. "I don't need you to protect me, and I don't need _him_ to, either."

As I leave, I can hear him heaving a dreamy sigh. "It isn't just me, is it?"


	11. Questions that aren't Idle and Curtains That Should Stay Shut

Being babysat by a pair of young adults is as humiliating as it gets, I'm sure.

After escorting me home, Batgirl disappeared and Robin took her place. Though I only see him when he checks all my windows and seals them shut from the outside.

So now, I have to do my work over the phone again and I'm swamped with paperwork.

Jim gave me a few open casefiles to see what conclusion I'd come to. I'm sure he'll run it all past the Bat first, but fuck- it's not like I can tell him not to. As much as it irritates me.

My brain is about to give out, I think.

So I sigh and get up from my desk, walking into my front room.

Pushing my couch back, my coffee table to the other end of the room, I begin stretching. It takes about ten minutes to limber up, but I take twenty to make sure I'm nice and loose.

Then I stand and begin doing my stances and practicing the self-defense moves I know. They aren't much and aren't useful if you can't kill or cripple someone without...well, in my last predicament there were more guns than I was comfortable with. I might have taken a shot anyway, if I hadn't been alone underground in the labyrinth.

Breathing slowly and deeply, I move through each stance and hold my attack positions for as long as possible.

"Nice form." A masculine voice startles me out of a high-kick and I end up startling and landing on my ass. "Whoops, sorry."

I groan and roll onto my stomach. "Boy Wonder."

"I'd rather Robin, if you please." He sounds so stiff and serious.

"My name is Robyn, so how will that work?" I deadpan at him. "I'll just call you Wonder, if it helps."

He grimaces. "It doesn't, but you're right- it'd be less confusing."

"So where's the Bat today?" I flop back on my back and curl my fingers together over my stomach.

"Don't really know." He shrugs and steps away from the corner he was lurking in before. "I don't usually ask. That way no one can get it out of me, not even if they outsmart me or...well, you know. I'm a talkative guy." He's completely unabashed, unapologetic.

"Uh-huh." Rubbing my hands over my face, I try not to dwell on the fact that the Bat's underling doesn't know where he is. They probably have phones or tracers or whatever for that.

"So..." He bites his bottom lip, with a smirk on his face, looking impish and all too _adult_ all of a sudden.

' _How old is he?'_ I wonder.

"Riddler seems pretty interested in you." He even throws in an eyebrow waggle. "Do you think-"

"Don't finish that sentence." I point at him and narrow my eyes. "Riddler's interest is _of_ no interest to me. He's a criminal, and as long as he's a criminal, it doesn't matter."

"Lot of women like criminals." He's grinning. "The danger, the redemption-"

"There's _been_ no redemption from what I've heard." I lift a brow at him. "And if you're referring to _me_ redeeming him, then you should know I don't buy into changing your significant other. A person is who they are, if they change, it must be because they choose to- and not for anyone but themselves. Otherwise it's useless, they'll just go back to their old patterns."

"I see." He's almost pouting. "Does that mean you _don't_ like danger?" He grins.

"I didn't say that." I shrug. "Dangerous people are dangerous for a reason, but danger itself is just a situation. Chaos has its own place in the universe."

"You're a bit more complex than I was expecting." He admits, a blank expression on his face all of a sudden.

' _How much of the grin is a mask and how much is the blank expression he's showing now? Are they both fake? Neither?'_ I'm impressed by his changeability. He's able to switch between personality traits without coming off as insane.

"More complex than you were expecting?" I send him a sideways look. "The Riddler doesn't like _boring_ people, does he? I'd have to be at least a little complex. If not, I'd guess he'd want something from associating with me. But he met me as Riddler instead of as an Alias, so there is definitely something he thinks I can give him outside connections or..."

"I had thought it was the same as the others." He shrugs.

' _Ah.'_ Them. The young women with whom Riddler had dallied with in clubs or chased until he caught them, then released them.

"I think they were games, a way to let out his frustrations and feel superior." I sigh and rub my forehead, still prone on the floor. "I think he _thinks_ I'm special in some way. I'm a winner, so I'm smart. He knows something of my background- I won't even begin to analyze the interest in _that._ He tested my adaptability and a whole slew of other crap, so he thinks he's got my scores in those areas too."

"So you think he's wrong?" He tilts his head, neither cold nor warm

"I think he's romanticizing me. Either for the purpose of thinking he's in love, or for the purpose of thinking I could love _him_. It may not even be strictly _romantic_." Maybe he just wants to know someone like me thinks about someone like him. Feel the triumph in being a part of my life. That's how Joker fixates on the Bat sometimes.

"So if you dispel the illusion, he'll lose interest?" He's really intelligent, I can tell.

"You know he wouldn't." I give him a look, upside down as I am it must look ridiculous. "If I dispelled the illusion by being less interesting, he'd either kill me or become obsessed with making me into what he thought I was. If I do so by exposing the fact that I have no intention of becoming anything to him, romantically or otherwise- he may do that, or snap and go on a complete killing spree."

"And you have no intention of returning his interest in any way?" He tilts his head at me.

I deaden the look in my eyes. "You have no right to assume I would, and I am not answering that extremely offensive question. Get out."

He doesn't flinch, but I get an air of surprise from him as he walks to my window and climbs out onto the fire escape.

I don't lie to myself. But lying to others is always necessary. Attracted to Riddler or not, romantically inclined toward him or not, it doesn't matter. I don't compromise my morals or my logic for emotional reasons. No one believes that, hence the lying.

Would I kill or seriously injure a person to save someone I love? Of course I would. Anyone would. Self-defense or defense of others is protected in the _law_.

Would I go on a crime spree to satisfy a lover, family member or kindred spirit? No. Hell no. It isn't who I am.

The question is more offensive than he knows. _'Last time someone asked that question it was more than idle. I wasn't lying when I responded, and no one believed me.'_

Shaking off that extremely unhappy memory, I get up and walk into my bathroom. It's a simple tiled bathroom with a black shower curtain and blue towels. Who actually matches anything when they're my age, living alone and don't invite anyone back to their place?

' _Maybe I'm just lazy.'_

Closing the door behind me, I take notice of something as my fingers automatically move to lock the latch. My shower curtain is drawn.

It's closed.

This wouldn't normally be a point of concern, if you didn't have a pervasive paranoia. I always leave the curtain open. After a shower, I always pull back the curtain so I can see the inside of the tub. _'It's nothing. You forgot it. You forgot and...'_ I don't forget. The last time I forgot, bad things...happened.

I step back and grasp the handle.

The curtain flings itself to the side and I go completely still as something strikes me in the chest. It's a light pinch, and when I look down...there's a small dart there.

"So sorry about this, Miss Loom." Riddler. Standing in my tub.

"How." I blink heavily and fall back against the door a bit, putting a hand to my forehead, unable to speak. Something...

"I promise to explain, just as soon as you wake up." He grins as I fall on my ass on the tiled floor.

His pleased face is the last thing I see as the world falls dark.


	12. Ugggghhhhhh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See? I haven't forgotten about this story.
> 
> I'm just in a block for anything but Transcendence for the most part, so I'm sorry this is getting updated so infrequently.

My mind is sluggish.

Everything is a blur of charcoal and blue.

It takes forever to get my eyes to open and _stay_ that way. At which point I see the asshole in green off in a corner of 'my' cozy little bedroom. "Ugh." I grunt and roll over, pulling the covers over my head.

"I see you're awake." That irritating amusement is there. "Do you like the bed?"

"Uggghhh." I groan long and loud.

"Ah, yes. The drug is quite uncomfortable, isn't it?" His tone has turned sympathetic. "They give it to me in Arkham, you know. Dull my senses, slow my brain processes. Too bad for them that the _speed_ of my thoughts has never been the thing that makes me so slippery and hard to keep hold of."

"You kidnapped me, ass." I slur and peek out of the blankets to glare blearily at him. "What hell you want?" I frown. "Missed words there."

"Hm." The expression on his face is displeased. "I suppose I should have given you a smaller dose, but time _was_ of the essence."

"Why?" I ask, imperious and irritable.

"The Batman got involved in Scarecrow's treatments and woke him up, the great idiot." Wow, that's a lot of hostility. "As soon as he woke up, he began machinations to break out. He's extremely resourceful, Jonathan. If I hadn't used the opportunity his exodus gave me to get to you, you'd be in _his_ hands now."

So...instead of being kidnapped by a mad scientist who quite possibly might have made it his mission to scare me to death...now I'm in the hands of an intellectual who almost killed me once with riddles, puzzles and arduous challenges- but who seems to have no need to repeat that action in the near future.

' _Not like I could admit it to him without playing into his delusions of grandeur and friendship or whatever the hell he thinks we are-but he's right. This is preferable.'_ After all, if _Riddler_ could get past the Bat's defenses and his kids, then Scarecrow...well, let's just say Scarecrow cares a little less about collateral damage than Riddler does. _'Riddler thinks of collateral damage as messy and inelegant. Thank god.'_

"Hmph." I grunt. "Where we at?"

"Regaining the use of a few more of your brain cells?" He jibes, chuckling and standing from his seat to walk over to me. "We aren't that far from Gotham, but not that close either."

Something clicks in my brain, even sluggish as it feels right now. "When you broke out..." I lose my train of thought and frown, growling.

"Hm." He walks over and kneels next to the bed, cradling my chin in his hand so he can look into my eyes. "You aren't coming out of that as well as I'd hoped. Here." He reaches into a pocket inside his jacket and pops out a pair of pills. "This should get rid of the last few vestiges of that medication."

I lift a brow as he holds them out to me. "Do I look... stupid enough... take pills from you?" I slur.

"At the moment?" He's smirking at me. "If you were well, you could think it through yourself. Allow me to lead you there." He settles back and curls his hand around the pills, clearing his throat. "I brought you here to protect you. I knocked you unconscious in the most painless way possible- and trust me I know plenty of painful ways- so." He smirks extra-wide now, holding out the pills again. "Here you go."

And of course I took them.

Because his logic sounded air-tight to my fucked-up brain and because I really hated the sensation of not being able to think. I popped the pills, swallowed them down and listened to Riddler as he walked around the room and monologued about the house and how he'd obtained it.

My brain doesn't really register most of the information as individual words, but I get the gist of it.

Riddler broke out of Arkham to find one of his contacts, then met up with a guy in the domestic area he was picked up in, and allowed himself to be arrested. He honestly didn't expect me to face him after our 'little adventure' together and he was happy to see that I was stronger than he even thought I was.

Which is retroactively insulting- I mean, did he expect me to fall apart? After seeing my record? Please, I've been through _much_ worse.

So after seeing me, and knowing that Batman and his kids were going to be watching out for me- he broke into my apartment because- surprise surprise, someone in the transport was on his payroll and helped him escape. Everyone but that guy is now apparently dead or in a coma and Riddler booked it over to my place- breaking in and hiding in my bathtub behind the shower curtain.

All he had to do was slightly change his hair and eye color, dress a little sloppy and then he changed everything back when he got into the building.

"Ugh." I pinch the bridge of my nose as the pills lance away the haze with sharp, cold pain. "Why the fuck not just use chloroform if you were gonna knock me out?"

"There was the danger of you struggling and hurting yourself." He says, sitting in a seat on the other side of the room, jaw in his cupped palm, elbow on the table there. "As durable as you are, Robyn...I have no desire to hurt you."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah well, kidnapping me against my will is still fucked up. How do you even know Scarecrow is still interested in chasing after me?"

"We aren't quite so whimsical as the Joker, Robyn." He twirls his cane. "Scarecrow and I both have the tendency to fixate."

"I _know_ that." I retort irritably. "How do you know he even fixated on _me_ in the first place?"

"Because he has the tendency to think he has the right to break my toys- and that is how he sees you." He hums and paces across the room, flipping his cane around his arm and torso. I'd accuse him of showing off if I didn't know from his files that this is just how he thinks. "I suppose I may have simply made it worse by protecting you, but what was my alternative, really?"

"Uhhh. I can think of a few." I hold my hand up, like a kid in class.

"I'm sure you can, and I'm sure they would all be perfectly logical- however, how many of them would lead to Scarecrow actually losing all interest in you?" He turns around to lift a masked brow at me as he speaks. "For certain?"

I open my mouth, and then I close it. "You could've always come up with a plan with the Bat, you know. Instead of working around him."

He sighs in exasperation. "It's how we've always worked, we... _work_ that way."

"So what am I doing here and exactly where are we?" I pause and hold up a hand. "Wait. I know in what vicinity, but why here?" My mind whirs with the information I couldn't grasp while drugged..."Riddler..." I drawl. "What was in the medication you gave me?"

"Ohhh I'm _so_ glad you asked!" He exclaims.

My stomach sinks down somewhere in the vicinity of my knees.


	13. Misery or Freedom, I Don't Care--Just Make it Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later on, I might go back in and fill in these action parts and crap, I dunno.

I feel like I'm going insane.

My brain is working at double, or maybe even triple speed- I'm filled to capacity with thoughts about every inch of this house, Riddler himself and the situation surrounding me.

So much so, that I have a hard time understanding it in terms of words instead of impressions and instincts. I shudder and clench my hands a bit tighter in my hair.

"You're doing better than most of the test subjects, I must say- I'm impressed." Riddler hands me a small puzzle toy and I rip into it with my fingers, pulling it apart and putting it back together within seconds. " _Very_ impressed." He mutters.

"This is torture." I growl at him. "I hate this!"

"It is quite vexing to be a genius, isn't it?" He hums and gets down on one knee in front of me. "How about we have a long, existential discussion and occupy all of that brain power?"

The discomfort recedes enough that I know this would be preferable to sitting here doing nothing. I make a face and reach up to clench my hair in my hands agan. "Is this what it's like to be you?"

He tilts his head at me. "It was, before I got used to it. There's simply a very low-key hum in the back of my mind now."

"Do you actually like this...or do you just want to spread the misery around?" I ask.

He sighs. "It isn't misery once you get past the initial discomfort. It's...I can't describe what it is. It's freedom. That's all I can say." He stands up and plants his cane, leaning on it nonchalantly. "So. Let's have that discussion..."

 

* * *

Gotham Police Department

 

The Batman stands in Commissioner Gordon's office as he addresses a few of his men and women in blue.

"I want a canvas of the area we caught Riddler in, and all surrounding neighborhoods. Ask questions, look for suspicious activity- we need to find Loom before Scarecrow starts rampaging across Gotham." Gordon dismisses his men with that and walks over to Batman, standing off to the side, in the shadows.

"Scarecrow won't find them before I do." Batman says, deep voice rumbling in his chest. "Riddler knows what kind of resources are at my disposal, and knows Scarecrow can't match them."

"So?" Gordon crosses his arms and shifts his weight.

"So, he's made this too easy. The trail is there to follow, which means he _intends_ for both I and the Scarecrow to find them." Batman shakes his head. "He's planning something for when we get there. I don't know what yet. We should move with caution."

"So long as we get her back in one piece. She's..." Gordon shakes his head. "She's one of the only psychological types who's walked in here after a personal attack by one of the crazies, Batman."

"She could be an asset in the future, I know." Batman tilts his head and turns toward the window. "I knew when I met her the first time she was something else. I'll find her, Jim. Don't worry."


	14. It's Always Easier to Blame the Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. My muse for this story is finicky and fickle.

Wayne Foundation Memorial Hospital

 

"What happened in there, Batman?" Gordon stands outside Robyn's hospital room with a to-go cup filled with cold, forgotten coffee. "I can't stall anymore, I need a report."

"How many times have they called?" Batman speaks, standing opposite him in the shadow of a candy machine that conveniently blocks any view of him by the security camera nearby. "They're desperate for a scapegoat, you can't let it be her."

"I know that." Gordon sighs and rubs his face with his free hand. "I have to give them something or that's the way they're gonna go with it."

"I don't understand a lot that happened in there." Batman admits with distaste in his voice. "He gave her a chemical mixture that jump-started her brain processes but it completely burned through all her calories at once. Prolonged usage of whatever drug he gave her could lead to her body completely breaking down and eating itself."

"Jesus." Gordon mutters and rubs his forehead with his fingertips. "And Scarecrow?"

"She wasn't stronger or all that much faster." Says Batman, grim and matter-of-fact. "The only reason she's still alive is Riddler." He glances down the hallway and narrows his eyes. "A lot of Rogues have said they were trying to save or help someone when they've taken hostages or kidnapped someone. In this case, it happens to be true. But he did more damage to her with that drug than necessary in the process."

"Than necessary?" Gordon frowns and glances up at that.

"The drug could be refined to be safer, and I wager he knew that. He either didn't have time, or didn't care to fix the formula." Batman settles against the wall at his back. "Seeing the way he tried to help her survive, even when he was broken and bleeding...I don't think it was a lack of caring."

"So what?" Gordon crosses his arms and is careful of the coffee cup in his hand. "He shouldn't have drugged her, shouldn't have-"

"I'm not arguing that point with you, Jim." Batman interjects calmly. "I'm saying Riddler usually only rushes when he really cares about something."

Gordon groans. "He's never going to leave her alone."

"No, I don't think so." Batman responds. "She seems to be able to handle him for the most part, but his state of adoration for her might not last that long."

"What do we do about this?" Gordon asks. "Do I fire her?"

"Of course not. She'd just apply to Arkham." Batman gains an air of mirth about him, though he doesn't smile. "She has a need for this kind of work and won't allow a man trying to 'protect' her stop her from doing exactly what she wants to do." The mirth drains away.

Gordon is still staring at him with narrowed eyes. "You like that?"

"She reminds me of someone." Batman says mysteriously.

"Dad, I got you more coffee!" A red-haired woman walks down the hallway and Gordon turns to her as she holds out a new steaming Styrofoam cup. "Who were you talking to?"

Gordon sighs. "He's gone, isn't he?"

 

* * *

 Robyn's Apartment

 

"Ugh." I don't even know what to make of this. "Did they have to include _all_ the pictures of the scene?"

"Dad said you wanted to be thorough but yeah...I agree. This seems a little excessive." Barbara Gordon is hanging out in my apartment with me, helping me go through some of the files that the Commissioner gave me to look over.

Barbara coming over was a concession I made because I knew he wasn't going to drop the whole- you-need-supervision-thing. I'm pretty sure he only agreed to leave it at Barbara and give me some work because I wanted to go to Arkham and interview Riddler and Scarecrow.

It wasn't a threat at the time, but now I kinda think he thought of it as one. "How many people did Croc rip through in one house? How many people were living in this one house?" I flip back to the evidence time stamp and make an unsatisfied noise. "There wasn't even a holiday anywhere near this date to justify all these people being in the same house for innocuous reasons."

"Maybe he just grabbed them and dragged them all there, _then_ started murdering them?" She makes a face. "Some of them have criminal records, but there are a lot who are just small-time taxidermists and accountant types. There's no pattern in the victim selection."

None of the people were related, so even if it'd been _Christmas_ , this would've seemed weird. None of them knew each other except maybe professionally or casually- a one-time purchase or passing them on the street.

"Maybe it's not about them, but about him?" I tap my fingernails on the table. "We need to interview Croc."

"Batman and several Arkham doctors have already." She responds, flipping over a piece of paper and handing it to me. "They couldn't get anything out of him."

"Yeah well, Batman can only get them to talk when they feel like they're winning. And the Arkham docs are all a bunch of quacks and sadists themselves...and not the consensual kinds." I shoot her a glance and snicker when I see the disturbed expression on her face. "Not acknowledging it doesn't make it go away."

"I know it happens, I just don't like to think about it." She grumbles and makes a face. "Who _likes_ being poked with needles and cut with knives?"

"Anyone who's ever gotten cosmetic surgery or acupuncture, for one." I grin and gather our materials up. "I'm going to need to go and see him. Full Stop. Maybe tomorrow or the day after."

"You just got out of the hospital a week ago, though." She points out. "Shouldn't you take it slower?"

"This is glacial." I inform her. "The drug Riddler gave me is still wearing off since they couldn't figure out how to counteract it. I'm thinking at the same speed, but everyone and everything around me seems so _slow_. It's irritating as hell." I'm about to rip up the linoleum floor just to have something to do- though it's a lot better than it was last week and a hell of a lot better than it was just yesterday. By the day after tomorrow I _should_ be back to normal.

At least, by Batman's calculations.

"I cant imagine how irritating that must be," she says. "I'm pretty sure dad's not going to like the idea, but since you're basically freelance, he wouldn't be able to stop you. Or even fire you over it."

"Is that your way of encouraging me or lamenting that I'm about to do something stupid and no one can stop me?" I grin crookedly and get up, walking over to grab another hot tea out of the container I picked up this morning that I've left in the microwave to preserve the heat. It doesn't work that well, but at least it's warm enough to not taste crappy.

I hit the controls to start it up for a minute, it'll sit in there warm afterwards for a while longer, so hopefully it'll last till I need another one. That girl is always giving me discounts and I can't stop buying three or four teas as a result.

I didn't change the tea shop I go to as sort of a protest, I guess. To spite the people who think I should be afraid, cowering in my apartment, quitting my job.

Fuck that.

I've worked hard to get where I am, and lived through a lot more upsetting bullshit than this for a lot longer.

I'm fine.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long guys. I'm so into some of my newer projects this is kind of...well, I forgot it existed. hehe....eh...
> 
> This is why reviews are important, cause I saw one on the original version of this story today and it reminded me I had a chapter ready to go for this one. God, sorry guys!

Arkham Asylum is a creepy place.

It isn't simply the decor, which is old-school gothic- or the paint scheme which is all one shade of gray…

It's the air. The feeling of hopelessness, restless frenzy and the clammy clap of air on the back of my neck that feels like a hand clasping me and holding tight.

Waylon Jones has been set up in an interview room- across the table from me, and he's the most comforting thing in here.

There's a guard on either side of the room in the corners furthest from us, to give the illusion of privacy I'd guess. They both look seasoned but shaky. Almost like they're here to spite the fact they're terrified to be in his proximity.

The room itself is gunmetal gray which is fine enough, but there's no contrast. The chairs, the table and the damn security guards are all in similar shades. It just makes you think…jail. Danger. Death. Sexy death, but still death.

Funny how many people associate guns and knives with sexuality-including me. You'd think psychologists would realize that and paint over it.

He's staring me down, catlike eyes almost seeming to glow in contrast to both the walls and his own dark emerald skin. But there's an artistry to him that's lacking in the environment.

His eyes are slanted to some extent, nose nearly nonexistent- basically just nostril slits. But his body is so human the only difference between him and the security guards there is the scaly texture and green color of his skin, not to mention the claws. Though…he _is_ a bit bigger than the average man.

And I can see another difference when he smiles at me. More a baring of his teeth than anything of mirth or happiness. "Ya bein' awful quiet there, Cher." They're mostly normal, but his eyeteeth are pointed and longer than the others. Not by much, but enough.

"I can see why you hate this place." Is my response. It just comes blurting out. I try to keep my expression even so it doesn't seem as unprofessional as it actually is.

His body and expression both freeze, and I know I've taken him by surprise. "Oh?" More of a rumble or a growl than a word- with that accent wrapped around it. How does a _growl_ sound vaguely french? I don't know.

"Well first of all, the gothic architecture." I begin, gesturing with my hand as if to reference all of it. "I love it and everything, usually it's my aesthetic. But this is just…depressing." My nose is wrinkling, I can feel it. "This place used to be a mansion and I can only hope the people painted the walls different colors and put up more interesting artwork."

"I dunno." He drawls. "Like the way the _outside_ looks." With a small smirk.

"The outside is gorgeous, I'll admit." I purse my lips. "But in here? Everything is so small and yet so big. Small rooms with vaulted ceilings don't actually give a sense of space for me. I dunno about anyone else. It just makes everything seem narrow and kind of terrifying to me." I laugh. "I mean, what if the ceiling caved in?"

"Has, a couple times." He responds, a dark look on his face. "Know what ya mean."

"And the color scheme is not only enough to put a person on edge- don't they know most of their inmates would associate the gray with knives, guns and other technological weaponry and whatnot? They're constantly being reminded of violence. It'd be a hell of a lot less stimulating just to paint everything white with blue trim or something instead." I shrug. "Not to mention the lack of other colors or even other shades of _gray_ give you this…disorientation." Grimacing, I shake my head. "It's like snow blindness."

He chuckles and taps his claws in a rhythm on the surface of the table. "You some kinda interior designer, Cher?" That accent curls around every word. Dripping from his lips like sweet, poisoned honey.

"I'm a criminal profiler, actually." Shrugging my shoulders, I go on. "At the moment I'm a liaison between Arkham and the GCPD. Commissioner Gordon asked me to look into your case, and I can't figure out this last set of murders?" I put an upward inflection as I put down the file and slide it over to him.

He's looking at me, doesn't even glance down. First indication he doesn't want to talk about it. Second would be the extremely tense set of his shoulders.

"But first I want to ask about your jumpsuit." It's more like a t-shirt and pants that have been sewn together, all the inmates dress that way. Bright bleached white. His is…tight. "They fit these suits to each of you individually, so why is it so tight on you? It should be tailored to fit."

He lifts a brow at me, as if to call bullshit on my topic of choice. "It fits just fine, Cher. Just makes it hard to move around too much without cuttin' off my circulation or rippin' my clothes apart. Supposed to be a…" He hums as he thinks on that. "Deterrent? That the word they used?" He muses to himself and then grins at me. "Yeah, I think that was it."

That's all kinds of wrong, but Jim said not to call the doctors out any more than I already have just walking into the place and proclaiming it 'needlessly creepy and stimulating on the wrong end of the spectrum'. Doesn't matter that I didn't say it straight to their faces, apparently.

"I'm sorry you have to put up with that." Is what I settle on saying. "I mean, you're supposed to be here for therapy, to get better. They shouldn't be doing…anything like that." Well, that was slightly more calling out than I'm supposed to be doing and I can just _feel_ Jim glaring at me from the other side of the two-way mirror.

He hums, long and rolling and low. "S'not like they don't have their reasons." He chuckles again, leaning back in his reinforced seat, chains rattling as he moves. "Still annoyin' though."

 _That_ makes me a little pissed off. "No reasons would be good enough to make you go through that." I intertwine my fingers together on the table. "They have tranquilizers, stun guns, chains- apparently." Gesturing at the chains connected to his arms and legs and even the few attached to the collar around his neck and the back of the chair he's sitting in. "There's no reason for that."

He stares at me in silence for a long moment before opening his mouth to respond.

**EEHHHHH EEHHHHH EEHHHHH!**

Croc's head snaps up and his slit pupils contract. "Who got out?"

"Loom, get out of there!" Jim rips open the door next to me and leans in far enough to grab my upper arm, yanking me out of my seat and then out of the interview room.

"Jim, what the-!?" I stumble as he yanks me down the hall behind him. "What's the big deal!? There are break-outs all the time!"

"It isn't a break-out!" He halts when we get to the reception area of the inner wards. "Shit."

The metal doors to the outer wards are down, which means we're not getting out. "What…?"

Jim turns and puts his hands on my shoulders, gaining both my attention and my concern. "They're trying to take control of the Asylum, Loom. We need to get to the med-center or the security guard station. Two safest places in this whole damn Asylum."

"Heyyyy!" A boisterous voice intones from nearby.

Jim glances past me and huffs. "Quinn."

I turn and brush his hands off my shoulders as I go.

Harleen Quinzel, A.K.A. Harley Quinn. She's a slim blonde with a pair of pigtails and each one seems to have been dipped in a different color paint. Red and black. Big blue eyes painted up with the same as her hair.

Psychological profile says she's co-dependent on Joker and has a low self-esteem. I kinda think her doctors are stupid, because she obviously has great self-esteem. She just likes being with Joker so she puts up with everything he does to her. Masochistic perhaps…

I always found it a little amusing that she based her entire persona on being like the Joker, and yet she chose her own color scheme and her own style. Sort of punk mixed with kind of Victorian. Like even when she's leaning on him and loving him in her own co-dependent way, she's still marking herself independent of him.

"Hey commish!" Harley giggles from her place on the floor right inside the metal doors with her own guardian. He's got a hold of the back of her straight jacket as she sits on the ground by his feet. "Goin' ta stay here with us?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this story's updates always takes me so long. I really dunno why...

"This is what happens when you're a homicidal maniac." I mutter at the pale form on the medical cot. "People don't want you in their hospitals. You could've been far _far_ away from this whole conflict if you were less terrifying to people."

"I don't think he can hear you." One of the interns is shaking, but still on her feet, so that's good. "He's still going to need some time before everything wears off…"

"I know." I flick my wrist. "But if he were awake, he'd argue with me."

She giggles a little, nervously. "I've, um. I've tended him before, I…can sympathize."

I give her a surprised look. "How long have you been an intern?"

"About a year now?" She sighs and brushes some hair over her shoulder. "He's crabby when he's hurt and being sedated, so he snaps at me a lot."

Snorting and shaking my head, I reach out and flick a strand of hair away from his face. They cut their hair short in this place, messily too. "He must be a nightmare when he's being sedated. He hates feeling slow."

"I'm not looking forward to him seeing his hair, either…" She whispers. "He hates it when they touch his hair."

My brow creases at that. "I didn't think he was vain."

"I don't think it's about how it looks." She says, biting her lip. "He's chopped it off before by himself before coming here."

I have a eureka moment and nod. "Control. He has issues with that."

"Everybody does, really." She shrugs and wraps her arms around herself. "Everybody here, anyway."

"Can you get someone to wake him for me?" I ask, smiling a bit. "We need to move him before long and I'd rather he was semi-coherent."

She frowns. "But he'll just join in, won't he? I mean, he's injured but we have some of his ex-henchmen here…"

"I doubt they'd be doing his bidding if they're _ex_ -henchmen." I point out. "And no. We'll both be trying to stay out of this conflict for one very big reason.

' _Scarecrow._ '

* * *

 

Riddler POV

How surprising it is to wake to the dulcet tones of my sweet Robyn demanding I open my eyes.

Agh! And how irritating to have to feel the broken bones in my body as I do so.

"Come on, Riddles. Wake up." She's bending over the edge of my medical cot, eyes staring into mine as they open. "There's a takeover going on and we both know someone who's going to be very happy to find and skin both of us alive just for the fun of it."

For a moment, I can't comprehend the words she speaks. Then the meaning hits me but the person escapes me until I remember where I _got_ the broken bones.

I must be sedated very heavily. This is…like being encased in molasses. I _hate_ it.

"Robyn…" I drawl and groan as the slightest shift of my body provokes a wave of pain. "Painkillers, please."

"They're going to shoot you up with them when the sedative wears off all the way." She informs me, unhelpfully. "How about we talk about what we're going to do?"

Ah, my merciful truth. "I assume…getting out. Of here." I must grit some of the words through my teeth, but not focusing completely on the pain can only help. "Somewhere he would…wouldn't…expect. Won't…look."

"Any ideas?" She prompts me as the doctors swarm around, some checking my pulse and the monitors next to my cot- others prodding at my body to be certain the wrappings and such are in place.

I grunt and grint my teeth at every well-meaning poke. Whether they must be certain or not, I curse them for their ungentle hands! "I can tell you…where I wouldn't be caught dead…but then…you might…take me there." I respond.

A soft chuckle as she settles on the cot to my left, reaching up to brush hair out of my eyes- _thank you_. "If it means survival, being in the general vicinity wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

I grumble under my breath and sigh in relief when the back of her cool hand touches my overheated cheek. "Still not telling."

She sighs, "you're running a little bit of a fever. Damn it." She presses her hand to my face, lightly around the broken cheekbone. Twinges of pain aside, the soothing relief of cool skin on mine… "Do you have him on antibiotics?"

"He wasn't showing signs of infection before, we hadn't been able to check him during all this-" The doctor speaks and alas, no intelligence to be found. Of course I would have shown signs. Fever is only the most obvious.

"Wait wait. What distracted you, exactly?" Robyn snaps at the doctor. "The whole place getting taken over has almost nothing to do with your jobs. Keeping the patients alive and caring for them is your job, and you have all the supplies you need. The Rogues don't usually even attack the people who patch them up!"

"Unless we really hate you." I respond, feeling the clarification is necessary. "Some of you sadists just love to make us squeal in pain and we can't wait to pay you back in kind. But you…you shouldn't have anything to worry about." Ah, I forgot about the pain for just a moment, in between throbbing waves.

But now it's worse than before.

"Riddles, relax and stay still. Tensing up will only make it worse." She presses my shoulders gently down as my body bows and gently runs her fingertips down my chest to get me to shrink back into the bed away from her touch. "Breathe with me. Can we give him a pain killer yet?"

"Soon. Just another two or three minutes, I think." The imbecile responds.

"Riddles, look at me." Robyn beckons.

My eyes move from glaring at the doctor to gazing at Robyn, into her eyes. "The pain…is too m…much."

"I know. It must be excruciating." Her expression saddens as her fingertips begin to run through my hair.

"You are becoming overly familiar with the patient, miss." The doctor uneasily asserts. "This is against-"

"He's in so much pain he might go into shock before we can give him a painkiller and you're mad I'm stroking his hair?" She narrows her eyes at him. "I've been in situations like this before. Soothing criminals with broken bones, shattered bodies- I know what to do, now let me do it."

' _So commanding!_ ' I think I like it.


End file.
